


The Rest Is Just Circumstance

by MintSauce



Series: The Halfway House [20]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Jealous!Mickey, M/M, Mickey in a tie, dinner date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:22:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3784726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintSauce/pseuds/MintSauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey feels like he's choking in this stupid fancy restaurant. It could be the tie, but the waiter flirting with Ian isn't helping matters either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rest Is Just Circumstance

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill from an anon on tumblr :)

Mickey feels like he’s choking.

He pulls at the collar of his shirt and makes a face, guzzling down half of the beer in front of him like he thinks it’ll honestly help. He knows it won’t, but it might make him feel a little bit better about this whole situation in general.

They’re in a fancy restaurant.

Well… not _fancy_ fancy, but fancy enough to have Mickey feeling on edge.

Ian fits right in, but Mickey on the other hand. Mickey feel like he’s sticking out like a sore thumb in his blazer and fucking tie. He would have bailed already if it wasn’t for the way Ian looked right now, the way he was looking at him.

Ian’s wearing this really soft looking beige jumper that’s making his hair look like it’s on fucking fire. The neck of it is dipped just low enough that Mickey can make out the beginnings of Ian’s chest hair. It fits like a fucking glove too, tight around Ian’s muscles and tapering with his waist.

He looks good enough to eat.

And the thing is, even though Mickey feels like a fool, Ian is looking at him in just the same way.

“Mick, just take the tie off,” Ian says, giving him a soft, amused look. “You’ll look fine without it, honest. And I’d rather you be comfortable.”

That’s the only time he needs telling, yanking the thing off the table so quickly that he almost sends their glasses flying. Ian laughs in such a wonderful way that it makes the whole thing worth it though, reaching over and taking the tie from him, tucking it in the pocket of his leather jacket hanging over the back of his chair.

How Ian can look smart in a leather jacket and jumper whilst Mickey has to wear what basically amounts to a cheap man’s suit, Mickey will never know. It probably has something to do with Ian’s cheekbones, most things do.

“You even understand what’s on this menu?” Mickey asks, squinting down at the tiny writing.

Thankfully, there are prices beside the names Mickey can’t pronounce. He knows the most uppity places have the policy that if you have to ask, you can’t afford it. Because who the fuck wants to pay half their rent for a tiny piece of steak anyway?

“Is this even fucking English?”

He’s trying to keep his voice down a little, doesn’t want to ruin Ian’s attempt at a real adult date. He knows he isn’t quite succeeding judging by the looks he’s getting from a few of the other tables.

“I think it’s French,” Ian says, squinting just as much. He reaches a long arm over and points to something on the menu that Mickey isn’t even going to try to decipher. “I think that’s chicken. Or beef… I was never very good at French.”

It’s better than Mickey knows though, so he’s going to go with it.

The waiter when he finally comes over is a different one than who seated them. He’s tall, taller than Mickey anyway and handsome if you like guys in stupid bowties and haircuts that belonged way _way_ in the past.

He doesn’t glance at Mickey, beaming straight down at Ian when he says, “Can I take your order, Sir?”

Ian just smiles up at him, nodding.

It makes Mickey wonder if he notices the blatant ‘ _fuck me’_ eyes and is choosing to ignore them or if he’s just that oblivious.

Ian has to know he’s hot, he _does_ know he’s hot and Mickey is well aware of this. But he wonders sometimes what Ian would do when faced with people realising that hotness.

It’s fine when it’s chicks, because Ian’s just as scared as the muff as Mickey is. It’s different when it’s guys that Ian could possibly find attractive.

“Yeah, I think so,” Ian says. He makes a garbled attempt at one of the things on the menu and then looks at Mickey. “You want that thing I pointed to?”

Mickey nods, liking how easily Ian can guess him.

Ian orders it for him and then hands their menus over. The waiter seems to start when their fingers brush, but Ian apparently doesn’t even notice. He’s looking at Mickey again. “You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Mickey says, just nodding stiffly.

“You tell me if there’s anything else you’ll be needing,” the waiter says, still just talking to Ian. “My name’s Danny. I’ll just be over there.” He points, but Mickey doesn’t look where to.

He sucks down more of his beer even though he knows he needs to pace himself, knows this place will overcharge on that shit.

He pulls a face at the waiter, _Danny’s_ retreating back, which of course Ian catches.

“Mick,” he laughs, nudging Mickey with his foot under the table. “What are you doing?”

“Fucking prick wants to get in your pants,” Mickey mutters, fiddling with one of the ten thousand forks laid out in front of him. _Who needs that many forks?_ “I’ll smash his fucking face in. Whose he think he is? He might as well be whipping his dick out for your inspection right there the way he’s looking at you.”

Ian laughs, leaning back in his chair and gripping Mickey’s ankle firmly between his. “Mick, calm down,” he says. “Jesus. He’s just some waiter. You know I wouldn’t even look at him, right?”

Mickey shrugs. “Still don’t like it.”

“Well it doesn’t matter,” Ian says. “He doesn’t matter, can we just enjoy our date?”

Feeling like a dick, Mickey nods. “Sorry,” he mutters. “How was work?”

“It was fine,” Ian replies, still watching Mickey carefully. “Had a guy try to run on a higher setting on one of the treadmills. He tripped and dropped his phone like a total douche, managed to smash the whole thing nearly to pieces by launching it across the gym.”

Mickey smirks. “I’d so get fired for laughing at that sort of shit.”

“That’s why you wait until you’re out of sight to do it,” Ian says. “You’d be surprised how many people manage to do that though. We have a record of how far the phones have been flung.”

“That guy winning?”

Ian shakes his head. “Nah. That title’s held by this Barbie chick we still see in. She actually managed to kick her phone backwards as she was running, almost knocked out some poor guy on the bikes behind her.”

Mickey sinks down in his chair slightly, scoffing. “Classic.”

“It really was.”

Just when Mickey’s starting to relax, fucking _Danny_ pops back up like a bad STD. “You need a refill?” he asks, looking at Ian’s drink. The drink that’s not even half finished yet.

Ian shakes his head, chuckling lightly. “No, I’m fine, but I think my boyfriend could do with another beer.”

Mickey preens slightly at the boyfriend comment, but Danny doesn’t even seem to really notice. He just nods and keeps on beaming down at Ian like he isn’t now fully aware he’s trying to be a home wrecker. “I’ll get that right away,” he says, sauntering off.

_Who shakes their ass that much when they walk?_

“Douche,” Mickey mutters.

Ian kicks him lightly. “So what about you?” he asks. “Good day?”

Mickey shrugs. “Yeah, I mean more or less,” he says. “Got through the circuit pretty fast, managed to finish off season four of Sons of Anarchy when I got back.”

Ian waves his hands around dramatically like a fucking idiot. “I don’t want to know, don’t tell me what happens!”

“I won’t,” Mickey says. “I’ll watch it again with you. Finale was fucking awesome, like on a whole new level. Fucking _Chibs_ , man. And Opie!”

Ian puts his fingers over his ears briefly and pulls a face. “ _I don’t want to know, Mick!_ ” he says. “And anyway, we all know about your fucking crushes.”

“It’s the Scottish accent,” Mickey shrugs. “At least I don’t have a hard-on for the idiot with head tattoos.”

“Don’t talk about Juice like that,” Ian says, scowling. “He’s a sweet angel.”

“He’s had like _five lines_ so far,” Mickey scoffs. “And for one scene he was in a diaper.”

Ian shrugs. “And he looked flawless whilst doing so.”

“You’re such a freak, man.”

“Bite me.”

Mickey’s about to say he would willingly when a beer drops down onto the table in front of him. The prick still won’t look at him though, eyes only for Ian.

Mickey would admire his taste if he didn’t want to rip his tongue out of his fucking head.

“Sure I can’t get you anything?” Danny asks.

“We’re sure,” Mickey snaps and makes shooing motion with his hands.

Ian kicks him again, harder this time. “We’re fine thank you.”

“The fuck was that for?” Mickey hisses when Danny walks away. He reaches under the table to rub his shin and scowls.

“At least try not to get us kicked out,” Ian says. “And it was also for dissing Juice.”

Mickey rolls his eyes. “That’s just sad, man.”

“Fuck off.”

The food when it comes, thankfully dropped off by a waiter other than Danny who knows the meaning of _professionalism_ , is actually really good. Sure, it’s bound to be overpriced, but Mickey’s glad it can at least be sort of worth it.

He ended up with chicken in the end, which Ian looks pleased about.

Ian has some sort of duck thing, which Mickey initially thought was just fancy chicken. He realises he’s wrong when he tastes it, even if he doesn’t like the weird ass sauce it’s smothered in.

“Hey Ian?” he asks, voice lower now.

He’s been gearing up to ask this for a while and he knows he just needs to bite the bullet and do it. It’s not plaguing him necessarily, but it’s still there niggling at the back of his mind in his darker moments.

“Hmm?” Ian looks at him over the rim of his class, one eyebrow raised slightly.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” he says, smiling. “This isn’t a proposal, is it?”

Mickey just shakes his head. “No, seriously?”

Just like that Ian’s spine snaps straighter and he sets down his glass with the barest of sounds. He laces his fingers together and looks at Mickey in that level, careful way he sometimes does. No pressure, he’s just waiting. “Of course,” he says.

Mickey takes a deep breath and then, “Does it bother you? That your family hate me?”

He knows that sort of shit is a pretty big deal to some people. And he doesn’t think Ian would still be with him after all this time if it did bother him that much, but he just wonders sometimes, if maybe it doesn’t prey on Ian’s mind a little.

“No,” Ian says without hesitation. “I mean, it would be cool if they did like you more. It’d be nice if we could all sit down to dinner or something and I don’t have to be just waiting for one of them to pass judgement.”

He shrugs, picking his fork back up again. “But it’s not the end of the world for me,” he says. “That’s not what this is about, _us._ It doesn’t involve them so I don’t need their approval on it.”

He says it likes it’s so simple and maybe that’s the point, maybe it is.

“I’ve told you before,” Ian says. “It’s you and me, the rest is just circumstance.”

Sometimes Mickey doesn’t really think he completely knows what Ian means by that, but it makes him smile anyway.

“Okay,” he says. “Just checking.”

Underneath the table Ian tangles their feet together. “That all?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Okay then,” Ian says before he goes back to eating.

Despite himself and feeling only just a little like an idiot, Mickey lets out a small breath of relief.

 _Danny_ ’s back to burst their bubble when Ian motions for the check, swiping it up before Mickey can even hope to get his fingers near it. “It’s on me,” he says. “I asked you on this date remember, so it’s the rules.”

Mickey doesn’t really think they’ve ever been much for sticking to the rules, but he doesn’t complain. “I’ll get next time then,” he says.

Ian’s smile is worth it all.

As they’re walking out the doors, Mickey spots the ink on the back of the receipt Ian’s shoving into his jacket pocket. He snatches it out of his hand and stares at the scrawl stating: **You ever get bored of him, you should call me** along with a number.

Mickey scoffs and grabs Ian before he can help himself.

He shoves his hands into the back of that carefully styled hair, pulling slightly to leverage himself up as he kisses Ian. Ian’s hands are soon gripping the bottom of his back and he laughs breathless as Mickey practically tries to stick his tongue down his throat.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes as Mickey bites at the edge of his jaw.

“I don’t know what the proper date etiquette shit is,” Mickey growls into his ear, voice lower and rougher than he’s heard it come out before. Ian’s always bringing out sides of him he didn’t know where there though. “But I really think you should take me home and fuck me.”

Ian laughs and kisses Mickey again, rubbing the beginnings of his hard-on against Mickey’s briefly. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all night,” he says.

Mickey grins and takes his hand, not actually sure they’re going to make it all the way home before he finds somewhere to drop to his knees and get his mouth on Ian’s fucking cock (Spoilers: he doesn’t), but not before he has one last thing to do.

He catches Danny’s eye through the big window of the restaurant. Of course, the prick’s been watching them the whole time. He’s slightly red in the face, but his eyes widen when Mickey holds up his stupid little note to Ian.

His jaw works and then just drops open completely when Mickey touches the edge of his lighter to it and they watch as the whole thing goes up in flames.

Ian barks out a surprised laugh beside him, grabbing Mickey’s hand and jerking him into another fierce kiss. “You jealous fucking pyro,” he says.

It’s amazing how happy he looks about that fact really, although, it’s not really surprising at all.

**Author's Note:**

> [themintsauce](http://themintsauce.tumblr.com)  
>  @BethCottrell


End file.
